


In Sickness

by wheel_pen



Series: Viridian Mal [32]
Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fish out of Water, Gen, Imprinting, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-17
Updated: 2013-04-17
Packaged: 2017-12-08 19:24:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/765100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheel_pen/pseuds/wheel_pen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trip has been seriously injured, and Phlox’s painkillers are not having the desired effect. First he’s mean to Mal! Then he’s obsessed with pie. But eventually it works out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Sickness

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Viridians appear human, but are actually aliens who imprint on other people (Viridian or otherwise) and form a bond with them. They also live their entire life cycle in about six Earth years.
> 
> 2\. In each series, a different character is a Viridian, who was raised by mean Klingons on an outpost. An Enterprise crewmember is captured by the Klingons and they inadvertently form a bond with the Viridian, who helps them escape. Then they return to rescue the Viridian and bring them aboard the Enterprise. The Viridian homeworld is contacted and the Enterprise crew learn the Viridian will most likely die if they are sent away. So they end up staying on the Enterprise, and the crewmember has to adjust.
> 
> 3\. The bad words are censored. That’s just how I do things.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this AU. I own nothing and appreciate the chance to play in this universe.

"Phlox! Get back here, g-------t!"

"I-I think he's gone out."

"How can he _go out_?! He's got a f-----g patient here who _needs_ him!"

Mal tried to put a soothing hand on Trip's arm but the engineer shook it off. "You know what he'll say, Trip," Mal pointed out gently.

"Four hours! Four f-----g hours I've been suffering here! Doesn't he care about that, huh?"

"He said he wanted to try the medicine for _eight_ hours," Mal reminded Trip tentatively, "so you've still got another four to go—"

"Yes, _thank you_ , I can d—n well do the math on my own!" Trip lapsed into a grumpy, uncomfortable silence.

"Trip, darling, I know you don't feel very well—"

"Don't feel very well?" Trip repeated viciously. "I've got four broken bones! Four f-----g bones! That's one broken bone for every hour I've been sitting here with this useless s—t he calls a painkiller dripping into me! Do you know what it feels like to have four broken bones?"

"Well, I do actually—"

"It f-----g hurts, that's what it feels like!" Trip went on heedlessly. He squirmed on the bed in a vain attempt to get comfortable and ended up wincing instead.

Mal hovered over him worriedly. "Now, Trip, darling, please don't move around so much, it's only going to make you feel worse…"

Trip flopped back against the pillows, a thin sheen of sweat coating his face. "I am so f‑‑‑‑‑g tired," he breathed exhaustedly.

"Poor Trip," Mal said, ever sympathetic. "Why don't you try to get some sleep?" He began to dab at Trip's face with a damp cloth. "I'll turn the lights down, I'm sure I could put on some soothing music…"

Trip batted his hand away angrily. "Stop that, you're dripping on me," he snapped. "And I _can't_ sleep, I'm in too much pain. That's why I'm so d—n tired in the first place! You _know_ that!"

Mal knew. He'd been up all night, right along with Trip, on the previous round of medicine that hadn't helped much, and had also made Trip nauseous. At least he didn't seem to have that additional problem today.

"Well, perhaps if we did something to take your mind off it—"

"Like what?!" Trip demanded. "I can't concentrate to watch a movie or read a book, and Herr Führer refuses to let me keep an eye on Engineering…"

Mal frowned. "I thought it was Captain Archer who said that?" Trip growled in exasperation. "Well, never mind about that," Mal said quickly. "Here, look what I've brought you." He lifted a container from the floor and held it up for Trip to see, removing the lid eagerly.

The engineer frowned at the contents. "What the h—l is _that_?"

"It's gelatin," Mal revealed happily. "Look, there's red and green and orange and yellow…" Trip rolled his eyes, uninterested. "And look," Mal continued a bit desperately, pulling out one piece, "I've cut it into shapes for you, here's a star, and there's a house and a heart and a—"

"I don't _want_ f‑‑‑‑‑g gelatin," Trip asserted grouchily. Mal wasted no time dropping the wobbly star back into the container. He felt rather ill just looking at them. "I can't eat, I'm not hungry."

"Well, I could bring you something else," Mal offered. "Pudding or pecan pie or applesauce or—"

"What part of 'not hungry' don't you understand?!" Trip interrupted. "I don't want to eat anything!"

Mal set the container aside. "Alright, well, um, oh—perhaps I could read you a story." He picked up the data pad he'd set aside several hours ago.

Trip didn't immediately object with a cutting remark, which Mal took as a good sign. "What kind of story?"

"I've been reading classic science fiction stories from the early space era of Earth," Mal informed him enthusiastically, but Trip was already snorting with impatience.

"I've read those already," he insisted. "I read them when I was a little kid."

"Oh. Well, perhaps you haven't read _all_ of them," Mal tried, paging through his options. "Oh, here's a lovely one, I'm right in the middle of it, actually." Trip sighed heavily but said nothing. "You know, most of the stories from this time period are so dark, with the aliens invading Earth and killing people. But in this one the aliens are so friendly, and they help humans end war and poverty, and they even take humans back to their own wonderful planet if they want—"

"Oh, _good G-d_!" Trip snapped with irritation. "And they leave behind a book called _To Serve Man_?"

Mal nodded. "Oh, you know this one—"

" _Everyone_ knows that one!" Trip told him. "The book's a _cookbook_ , they take humans back to their planet to eat them!"

Mal stared at him, then down at the half-finished story. "Oh."

Trip groaned. "I ruined it for you, didn't I? I'm sorry, Mal." He squirmed around again, gave up. "G-d, I'm really sorry…" His tone was pure misery.

Mal pushed the data pad aside. "No, no, it's alright," he assured Trip, taking his hand. "You've saved me the trouble of reading it, haven't you?" With his free hand Mal petted Trip's damp hair. "Shh, it's alright, Trip…"

"It's not f‑‑‑‑‑g alright," Trip sniffed, refusing to acknowledge the tears in his eyes. "How much longer am I gonna be laid up like this? Two weeks? I can't stand it! I'm gonna lose my f‑‑‑‑‑g mind!"

"Now remember, the doctor said you might be back on your feet in a week or so," Mal reminded him soothingly.

Trip snorted. "On my feet on _crutches_ ," he corrected sharply. "How am I supposed to get up to the warp core station on crutches, huh? Get into an access tube?"

"Well, you wouldn't be doing those things anyway, the doctor said you'd be on light duty—"

"Light duty!" Trip repeated scathingly. "Reading reports! Writing reports! Writing reports about reading reports!"

"Only for a little while, darling," Mal assured him. "A week, two weeks—that's not so long, is it? We can read, and watch movies, and listen to music, and play games—"

"I don't want to play games!" Trip countered. "I want to do my f‑‑‑‑‑g job!"

That gave Mal an idea, at least. "Well, while we're waiting right now, would you like to play a game?" he suggested. "There are ever so many. We could do crosswords, or play cards, or something with a board, or I could get you one of those handheld electronic games—"

"Didn't you hear me?!" Trip fairly yelled. "I said I don't want to play any f‑‑‑‑‑g games! And get off me, you're too warm!"

"I'm sorry, Trip," Mal sighed, backing off. "Are you too warm? The panel says your temperature is normal…"

"I don't care what the d—n panel says, I'm too hot," Trip complained. "I wanna take a shower, I feel disgusting."

"I know, darling, but you can't just yet," Mal reminded him patiently. "I could give you another sponge bath, that would make you feel better—"

Trip let out a noise of frustration. "G-d! I hate those, I don't want any extra!"

"Perhaps if you drank some water, you'd cool off," Mal tried, reaching for the cup on the side table.

They both heard the doors to Sickbay open beyond the privacy curtain. "Is that Phlox?" Trip asked insistently. "Phlox, get your a-s back here!" he shouted, making Mal jump. "Go see if it's him."

Mal stood and peeked quickly around the curtain. "No, it's the Captain," he reported.

Trip's expression took on a different variety of peevish, tinged with panic. "I don't want to see him," he hissed. "I don't want to see anyone. Don't let him come back here!"

Mal nodded and quickly stepped around the curtain, causing Archer to stop short before him. "Mal," the Captain greeted. "How's Trip?"

"Uh, he's asleep," Mal replied, not entirely convincingly. "He's asleep now. You shouldn't wake him."

"I thought I just heard him yelling," Archer pointed out.

"Er, yes," Mal agreed. "He was yelling in his sleep. Um, having a bad dream. Very traumatic for him, this injury."

Archer wasn't buying this story. "Uh-huh. So how's he been today?"

"Um, rather uncomfortable, still," Mal admitted. "He's not feeling sick anymore though, so that's good…"

"I'll just look in on him," Archer decided, reaching for the curtain.

"No, no, wait a minute," Mal insisted, moving to block. "Just, um, please, Captain, let him sleep, he's had so much trouble getting to sleep—"

"I'm not going to make him get up and dance," Archer shot back, getting annoyed. "I just want to see him—"

For a moment Archer wondered if Mal would really try to take him down in the middle of Sickbay if he persisted. Then a splash, a clatter, and a curse from beyond the curtain drew both their attentions.

Trip was still swearing, colorfully, when Mal hurried back to his side. "Oh, dear," he said, seeing the cup of water rolling on the floor. The liquid dripped off the table, the bed, and Trip's hand, and soaked part of Trip's Sickbay attire. "Don't worry about that, I'll get that cleaned up right away," he assured Trip, dashing off for some towels.

As soon as Mal's back was turned Archer yanked the curtain aside. "Commander," he said sternly.

He could see in Trip's eyes what he wanted to say in return—it started with an 'f' and ended in 'off'—and while Trip might have said it to Jon, Commander Tucker dared not say it to Captain Archer. "How are you feeling?"

Trip's lips worked for a few moments, biting back responses. "Never better, sir," was what finally made it out, the ring of pleasantness patently false. Trip shook the cold water off his hand, unsure where to wipe it.

"I understand that you haven't been reacting well to some of the medication Phlox has tried," Archer went on.

"Oh no, sir," Trip replied through gritted teeth, and Archer's eyes narrowed at him. "Everything's just been peachy keen." His arm was getting tired of holding his wet hand aloft. "Mal! Where the f—k are you?!"

"Coming, coming," replied a voice from the other side of Sickbay.

"How long's he been here?" Archer asked, indicating Mal.

"I don't know, he's always here," Trip replied off-hand, as the person in question hurried back with an armload of towels. "Thank you," Trip told him sarcastically, taking the cloth offered to dry his hand.

"I'll just get this cleaned up in a moment," Mal murmured, swabbing at the puddle on the floor.

"Gimme one for the bed first," Trip snapped. "G-d, I'm probably going to have to move, I'm going to _die_ if Phlox doesn't give me something better than this s—t first—"

Archer moved in to help, taking a towel from Mal and patting the edge of the bed with it. "When's the last time Mal had something to eat?" he asked Trip.

"I don't know, he can feed himself," Trip replied sharply. "Mal, get me a new—" The other man popped up with a dry blanket. "About time. Get rid of this." He tossed the sodden covering to Mal, momentarily exposing his legs in their clear polymer casts. The new blanket quickly covered them before Archer's gaze could linger.

"You know, I haven't told you how much I appreciated what you did out there," Archer began. Wet things cleaned up, Trip had nothing to do again but squirm and feel miserable. And some of Archer's speeches could induce that even _without_ the broken legs. "I was just talking to Hess, and she assured me that if you hadn't dislodged that faulty coupler and thrown it away from the ship, it would have blown a hole through two decks."

"That's what I told you before I went out there," Trip muttered under his breath.

Archer smiled tightly. "Just out of curiosity, Commander Tucker, what should we do if the warp field is fluctuating?"

Trip frowned at him. "What are you talking about?"

"It's a simple question, isn't it?" Archer persisted.

"Are you _testing_ me?" Trip guessed, incensed. Archer gave him a look. "I can't believe it, you're _testing_ me. What, did my Chief Engineer license expire or something?"

"Are you going to answer?"

Trip crossed his arms over his chest. "Fine. You wanna know what to do if the warp field is fluctuating?" Archer nodded. "Get me some real f‑‑‑‑‑g painkillers and wheel me down to Engineering to fix it!"

Archer narrowly avoided sighing. Obviously this man was neither his brilliant Chief Engineer _nor_ his good-natured friend at the moment. Whatever medication Phlox had him on, it needed to be changed. Where _was_ that doctor, anyway?

Archer swung towards Mal, who was obsessively wiping off the bedside table and watching the two of them. "Mal, why don't you take a break for a while? Get something to eat, take a nap, just for a couple hours. I'll stay here with Trip."

Mal was shaking his head long before Archer had finished. "Oh, no, I couldn't leave Trip," he insisted. "He needs me."

"Just for a couple hours," Archer repeated. "I'll stay right here with him, I promise."

Mal hesitated—not because he was considering the idea, but because he was trying to think up additional reasons to reject it—and Trip panicked. "No, no, Mal can't _leave_ ," he said frantically. "He needs to stay here with me."

"Trip, I'll stay here with you, I promise," Archer told him. "Look, I talked to Phlox, nothing is going to change for another… three and a half hours, that's plenty of time for—"

At the mention of the doctor's name Trip became even more agitated. "You talked to him?! When?! _You_ said he'd gone out!" he added accusingly to Mal.

"Well, he had, I looked all over—"

"Where is that Denobulan b-----d?!" Trip demanded, voice raised. "Hiding from your patients now?! Well you've got _good f‑‑‑‑‑g reason_!"

"Trip!" Archer snapped. "Calm down. You're just making things worse."

Trip snorted as if to say things couldn't possibly get any worse. "Sometimes," Mal put in quietly, inching closer, "if you do this, he calms down a bit—" He started running his hand through Trip's hair.

"Don't touch me!" Trip ordered, smacking his hand away. His eyes were glistening again, with fury and frustration.

"Mal, I want you to go now," Archer told him firmly. "Have a meal and get some rest. Don't come back until 1300, that's an order."

Mal was not a member of Starfleet and thus technically not subject to Archer's orders, not the way the rest of the crew were anyway. Still, the phrase carried a certain threat, a certain promise of consequences if not obeyed, and Mal bit his lip nervously.

"You're-you're not leaving me?!" Trip exclaimed, aghast. "No, no, Mal, please stay, Mal, please—"

Archer tried to put himself between the two teary-eyed men. "Go," he reiterated to Mal.

"No, no, NO—" Trip punctuated his plea with a grasping arm that became a lunge, which almost sent him tumbling off the bed. The demand became a scream of pain as his legs were jarred.

"G-------t, Trip," Archer growled, setting him right again.

Phlox appeared like a magician, adjusting and scanning with efficiency. "I told you not to move so much, Mr. Tucker," he admonished his patient sternly. Trip glared at him, jaw clenched, breath coming in pants.

"Doctor, he's so uncomfortable, when are you going to try something new?" Mal sniffled, sliding in beside Archer to grasp Trip's hand and pet his hair.

"Well, I must admit, this particular combination doesn't seem to be effective," the doctor decided, examining the readings. "I'm afraid the electrolytic radiation the Commander absorbed does rather limit my choices. I may be forced to become… creative." He smiled, the sort of slightly ghoulish grin that brought comfort to no one in the room.

"Shh, shh, shh, Trip," Mal whispered in his ear. "Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere." Trip nodded tightly, eyes closed. He gripped Mal's hand fiercely.

Archer sighed, realizing his cause was lost. "If you'll excuse me, Captain," Phlox said cheerfully, indicating the hypospray he carried.

"Oh, of course—" Archer stepped aside abruptly, his foot landing hard on something lying on the floor. Multi-colored gelatin shapes were launched into the air, smacking against walls, equipment, and people with a wet squishing sound. Mal watched in horror as a lime-green gingerbread boy, deformed by his impromptu flight, tumbled lazily down the sleeve of Mal's black pullover, leaving a slimy trail in his wake. Mal clapped a hand over his mouth and turned away from Trip, stomach roiling.

"I'll take it from here, Captain," Phlox assured him pleasantly. "Perhaps you'd like to check back— _later_."

 

Archer felt a little guilty about not returning to Sickbay until after his shift ended that evening. He hated to see his friend and crewmember in pain, of course—but more to the point, he was afraid he would lose his temper if Trip was still in a foul mood. D----t, he didn't expect a man to suffer in silence like a noble martyr—especially one as naturally outspoken as Trip—but he also didn't expect him to dump all his frustration on a fairly helpless companion like Mal, either. Particularly one who so desperately wanted to _help_ Trip. But as it was obvious Mal had no intention of leaving Trip's side, Archer didn't know what more he could do, aside from sending a steward to Sickbay with something for Mal to eat and besieging Phlox with messages every half hour.

"Ah, Captain," the doctor greeted when Archer finally showed his face again.

"Sorry I wasn't able to get down here sooner," Archer began.

"I feel as though you never left," Phlox replied dryly.

"How's the patient doing?"

"See for yourself," the doctor invited. "I think you'll find he's much more tractable now."

Archer wasn't sure he liked the sound of that, but he stepped around the curtain to Trip's biobed anyway. The engineer was sitting up, blue eyes fixed on the spoonful of pecan pie Mal was swooping through the air in front of his face.

"Here comes the shuttlepod," Mal announced, making noises Archer hoped to never hear coming from a _real_ pod. Actually he sounded more like a chicken—a dying chicken. Trip grinned, apparently finding it amusing as well. "Are the Launch Bay doors open?" Mal queried, and Trip nodded, mouth open. Mal deposited the spoonful of pie inside and let Trip slurp it off. "Yes, that's good, isn't it?"

"That's good," Trip agreed, mumbling around the pie.

Archer straightened his face and cleared his throat. Both Mal and Trip turned to look at him, but Trip seemed to lose interest rather quickly. "Look, Trip, it's Captain Archer," Mal pointed out. Archer suspected Trip only gave him a second glance because Mal gestured with the pie spoon.

"He doesn't have pie," Trip observed, dismissing Archer from notice again.

"That is very true," Mal nodded.

"I want more pie."

"Finish what you've got now, there's a good boy," Mal cajoled, wiping a bit of drool away from Trip's face.

"Trip," Archer said, trying to get his attention. "Trip, how are you doing?" Mal got Trip to look at Archer again by holding the plate of pie in front of the Captain. "Trip, are you feeling better now?"

"No," Trip answered distinctly. "Because I have no pie."

"Alright, here's another bite," Mal allowed him.

Trip got the prize in his mouth before lodging his complaint. "Make the pie noise!" Mal immediately clucked like a dying chicken for him. Trip laughed, losing some half-chewed pie down the front of his shirt in the process, which Mal quickly wiped up. Trip tried to clap to show his appreciation for the 'pie noise' but he couldn't seem to convince his hands to meet up.

"He's not quite himself, is he?" Archer noted. "Doctor, is he supposed to be like this?"

Phlox appeared over Archer's shoulder. "Well, he seems to be much happier now," the doctor pointed out. "No complaints of pain, no fidgeting, no ill temper…"

"This is his third piece of pie, Doctor," Mal pointed out, sounding slightly worried. "I tried to stop with just two but he became so upset…"

Archer gave Phlox a look. "Apparently I'll have to add 'dessert fixation' to the list of side effects," the doctor decided.

The Captain made another attempt. "Commander Tucker!" That got Trip's attention. Score one for Starfleet paramilitary discipline. "Commander Tucker, the warp field is fluctuating. What should we do?"

Panic and confusion flitted across Trip's features. "Modulate—the flow—of—the—pie injectors?" he guessed.

"Pie injectors?" Archer repeated to Phlox, who shrugged. "If it's all the same to you, Doctor, I'd like to have my Chief Engineer back, in mind if not in body."

"Here comes the pie injector!" Mal said happily, making his 'pie noise' again. Trip grinned then opened his mouth. "Is the—um—warp field ready?" Trip nodded and Mal gave him the treat, dabbing at his chin afterwards.

Archer sighed. He supposed this was better than Trip's previous bad mood. And he didn't exactly want Trip to be preoccupied with engineering matters for the next few days when he most needed to heal. But he preferred the security of knowing his Chief Engineer was _available_ —mentally speaking—should a problem arise, and not obsessing over pie and drooling on himself.

He gave it one more try. "Earth to Commander Tucker," he signaled, snapping his fingers in front of Trip's face.

Mal pushed his hand away. "Stop that, he doesn't like that," he chastised.

Indeed Trip seemed to be frowning at Archer, or at least in his general direction. "No pie for _you_ ," he declared harshly.

"That's right, we shan't give him any pie if he's going to act like that," Mal agreed.

"Give _me_ pie," Trip decided, reaching an unsteady hand towards the plate Mal held.

Mal pulled it away. "No, Trip," he reminded the other man. "I _give_ the pie. You don't _take_ the pie."

Trip's face crumpled in despair. "No pie for me?" he asked, lower lip trembling.

"Oh, for G-d's sake," Archer huffed, turning to Phlox. "This is _not_ a viable solution, Doctor!"

"How about some milk instead?" Mal was saying.

Trip was not to be swayed. "Pie."

"Water?"

"Pie."

"Mashed potatoes?"

"Pie!"

"Applesauce?"

"Pie! Pie pie pie pie pie p—mmff! Mmmm… pie…"

Archer rolled his eyes as he walked out of Sickbay.

 

The Captain didn't return to Sickbay until the next morning, shortly before he was supposed to go on duty. That way if he felt the need to duck out—er, depart—he'd have a ready-made excuse. And if by some miracle he wanted to linger, well, who was going to bust the _Captain_ for being a few minutes late? (Well, T'Pol would. And Marcus, if he was feeling particularly rigid today. And Hoshi's disapproving gaze could burn through tritanium…)

The first thing Archer heard when he approached the dreaded privacy curtain was Mal's voice—of course. "And then the narrator says, _He traveled past the wonders of the universe, past the frozen moons of Etheenia, past the rings of Matalas Prime, past the Great Plume of Agasoria, until finally he reached the distant cosmos of an alien sun._ Look at that picture, isn't it pretty?"

"Sure is," Trip replied appreciatively, and Archer prayed it wasn't a picture of pecan pie. "Look at those shadows. You know, they still draw these panels by hand." His comments were accompanied by an odd slurping sound.

"Really?" Mal sounded impressed.

"Oh yeah." More slurping. "Just like in the old days, when it was printed on paper. They're real artists."

"Then the next panel says—hang on." Mal seemed confused. "Trip, why is Superman wearing an EV suit? Can't he breathe in outer space? He did it before in… the adventure with the frost monsters from Neptune."

"Well, Superman only has his superpowers when he's in the light of a yellow sun, like Earth's," Trip explained, with great authority and, Jon was pleased to note, lucidity. "So he can survive in space in Earth's solar system, but not really beyond that." Slurp, slurp.

"But if he doesn't have superpowers," Mal questioned worriedly, "how did he _get_ from Earth's solar system to the distant cosmos of an alien sun? He couldn't fly at Warp 17 like he did in the adventure with the giant robotic spider, and he couldn't survive very long without food and water and air, like he did in the adventure with the ancient pyramid aliens."

Trip refused to be stumped. "Well you see, Mal, the thing is, he _might_ possibly have—"

"Am I interrupting?" Archer said, sticking his head around the curtain.

Trip looked somewhat relieved to see him. "Not at all, sir. Come on in." He took the sucker he was slurping on out of his mouth—Archer hoped that was what had given his lips and tongue a slightly bluish cast.

The Captain looked back at his empty hand, out of sight behind the curtain. "I've got a piece of pecan pie here. Interested?"

Trip winced a little and put his hand on his stomach. "To tell the truth, sir, the thought of pecan pie kinda makes me a little queasy right now," he admitted. "I'm not sure why. Don't ever tell my mama I said that."

"Your secret's safe with me," Archer promised him, taking a seat opposite Mal. "How do you feel?"

"Decent," Trip shrugged. "Things kinda hurt if I think about them, so I'm trying _not_ to think about them, if you know what I mean."

"I guess Phlox finally found the right recipe for you," Archer observed, making a mental note to thank the doctor later.

"We're reading Superman comics," Mal pointed out enthusiastically. "Do you know Superman?"

"Well, of _course_ the Captain knows about Superman," Trip said to Mal, without spite. " _Everybody_ knows about Superman."

"Dr. Phlox didn't," Mal reminded him.

"Everybody from _Earth_ ," Trip corrected. "He's like—a planetary hero."

"I heard Marcus say the other day he thought Batman was better," Jon baited innocently.

Predictably Trip's nostrils flared at the challenge. "Just you wait until I'm mobile, Captain," he fumed, mostly in fun. "Me and Marcus are gonna stage a debate in the Mess Hall about this. Robert's Rules of Order and everything. Then we'll see who the better superhero is. If you can even _call_ Batman a superhero when he doesn't have any special powers, just money and gadgets…"

Jon held up his hand pleadingly. "Okay, okay," he chuckled, glad to see his friend had his senses back. "Just one question for you: What would you do if the warp field was fluctuating?"

Trip stared at him. "Modulate the plasma injectors, of course. Unless the sine of the warp field's wave coefficient was greater than one, in which case you would need to amplify the warp core phase couplers sequentially—" He broke off when he saw both Archer and Mal grinning at him. "What?"

Mal hugged him carefully. "I'm so glad you're back, Trip," he sighed. "I missed you."

Trip petted Mal's head with a bemused expression. "I'm not sure where I _went_ , but I'm happy that _you're_ happy. Say," he added a bit suspiciously, pulling Mal back, "when's the last time you ate? Or got some sleep? Or"—he wrinkled his nose in an exaggerated impersonation of Mal—"took a shower?"

"Oh, I don't know," Mal shrugged. "A while ago, I guess."

Trip gave him a stern look. "You go on and have something to eat and take a nap for a couple hours, okay?" Mal looked at him dubiously. "I'll be fine here. Believe me, I'm not goin' anywhere, buddy."

"I can stay here with him," Archer offered.

"Oh, thanks, Captain, but you gotta be at work soon," Trip demurred. "Phlox is right there in his office if I need anything." He picked up the data pad. "I'm just gonna sit here and catch up on Superman for a while. Maybe"—yawn—"take a little nap even."

"Are you sure?" Mal questioned.

"Yeah, go on, buddy," Trip encouraged.

"Okay. I'll be back in _two hours_ ," Mal promised.

"See ya then." Trip watched him leave fondly. "Sometimes he's a real sweet little guy, isn't he?" he commented to Archer.

"He is indeed," Jon agreed. "I hope you're planning to do something nice for him when you get better."

"Absolutely," Trip assured him pleasantly. "I'm already workin' on a list of movies to watch with him." He tapped the data pad and turned the screen for Archer to see. "I saved it under 'Lemonade Recipes' so he wouldn't snoop…"


End file.
